Divine Ambrosia

by Vivienne Savage

  “Should I call you Alexander or Hephaestus?”

  Alex kneaded his neck with one big hand. He was slouching now, and she noticed he wasn’t using his cane. “Whichever name you prefer.”

  Which name did she prefer? One was the god, but the other name was the man. The man she’d become enchanted with at the dinner, touched by Marie’s story of him visiting sick children. Now she knew why.

  Esme decided she wasn’t yet ready to acknowledge the god just yet. “Tell me why you want me around, Alex.”

  “I missed you. You may not remember your past life, but I do, and I know the same traits I valued in Aphrodite exist in you. You have her compassion, her desire to help others, and the depth of her love for mortals and mankind. More love than any other god.”

  “But you miss her. Why do you want me around? If I wasn’t the incarnation of Aphrodite, you wouldn’t pay me any mind, would you? I’ve grown up as a human. I have my own interests and dreams, but all you three seem to want is Aphrodite back. None of you have asked what I want. Do I, Esme, interest you at all? Or is it just Aphrodite?”

  Alexander quieted. His shoulders had dropped another two inches, uneven, and he was grimacing. “I can’t explain it, and I don’t know what else to do to make you happy.”

  She watched the way he rolled his shoulders, then tugged his hand. “Take a seat, I’ll rub your neck.”

  He grew quiet and settled on the bench in silence, leaning forward with his arms resting against his thighs. Esme moved around behind him and kneaded his shoulders. She started at his neck, trying to press away tension that felt like rock-hard boulders sculpted into a vaguely masculine shape.

  Alex sighed in relief and closed his eyes, practically reduced to pliable putty beneath her hands. “I’m not handsome, not like Luke or Beau. So I stay here and tend to my art as I did in the old days, as it is better than overhearing speculation from mortals that I am an ogre.”

  “You’re not an ogre. To be honest, first time I saw you, I thought maybe you were a veteran who’d been wounded in a war or something. But I’d never call you an ogre.”

  A moment of silence passed before Alex spoke again. “Why did you come to me, Esme? We would have honored your words and let you be.”

  “I don’t know. I guess because I thought you’d be the more understanding. Besides, I like discussing art with you, I enjoyed dinner at the banquet, and I just... Let’s say I believe this crazy thing about being Aphrodite. What then? Are you three going to start fighting over me again? Do I have to pick one of you over the others?”

  He shook his head. “No. When you walked away, we swore if we crossed paths with you again, we would be better men. I swore I would be better. Hermes always made you laugh, and Ares, he gave you the passion you needed, but I stole you away and behaved like a child when you didn’t bend to my will.” He relaxed beneath her hands again. “Would you want to be a goddess again? If it were at all possible,” he added after a very telling pause.

  “I don’t know. I need time to figure out my life and where I fit in. Being a goddess sounds complicated. So… a question for another day, yeah?”

  “Time? Is that all you wanted?” Alex chuckled at her this time with genuine humor and warmth. “We have nothing but time. We waited centuries for you, Esme. Trust me when I say a few weeks longer won’t hurt. The love is gone from this world, and though it needs you, each of us would gladly wait even longer if it means you’ll happily return.”

  She moved her hands a touch lower, working the next knotted section. After a moment, she grunted and plucked his sleeve. “Off with it. It’s hard to work properly with this in the way. Did you know I took a massage class with one of my friends for fun?”

  He glanced over his shoulder at her, eyes lit up with interest. “No, I didn’t, but I would be pleased to hear more.”

  He unzipped the sweatshirt first and shrugged out of it, left in just a T-shirt that was almost a size too small for the sheer bulk of him. All muscle and bronzed skin, though he wasn’t flawless.

  She wiped her brow against her shoulder. How he managed to sit in this sweltering sauna in a sweatshirt was beyond her. God magic, she guessed. “Ashley is learning to become a physical therapist, and she suggested a beginner’s massage class. We went together a few times for fun, but she still takes classes. Best part is, I let her use me for practice. In return, she let me decorate her place for a class project I had.”

  “What inspires you when you decorate a room?”

  “I don’t know. Sometimes it’s the person who lives there, or the way the lighting plays against the walls. Sometimes it’s the season. I just sorta go with my gut and things tend to work out. At least my professor thinks so. What inspires your sculptures?”

  “Memories,” he replied. “And sometimes my dreams.”

  “That must be sort of sad then, to sell them away to people who have no idea what they mean.” It made her wonder.

  “Sometimes. I always hope they’ll be loved no matter where fate takes them. I give them shape and form, it’s up to someone else to appreciate the beauty, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose so.”

  She worked her way down to his shoulder blades, starting with the left. He always seemed to favor that side more. While Ares had the sculpted body of a model, and Hermes could have been a male dancer, Hephaestus had the thick, solid build of a laborer, a man who was muscled for function not form, strong for a purpose, not aesthetics. She continued working out the knots in his back until her belly made an unladylike grumble.

  “I take it that’s my cue to feed you,” Alex said. He twisted around and smiled. The expression brightened his eyes and lessened the prominence of his scars. “Augustus is an excellent cook. Will you stay?”

  “I’d like that.”

  11

  Esme ate like a pig. At the conclusion of a four-course meal served in Alex’s expansive dining room, she leaned back in the high-backed chair and tried not to die. She hadn’t known roast beef could be so tender, potatoes so succulent and savory, or that a chocolate mousse so perfect could exist.

  “More mousse?” Alex asked, seeming to read her mind.

  “No. I seriously cannot stuff another bite into my stomach.”

  He chuckled. “You have made Augustus a happy man today. The opportunities to flex his culinary talents are rare indeed, and I am easy to please.”

  “I’d be happy to let him cook for me all the time. I mean, I’m not half bad in the kitchen, but this is amazing. Also, thanks for letting me come and talk. I feel… a little better, I guess.”

  “I’m glad.” When Alex smiled, his eyes lit with pleasure and he became truly attractive, as if happiness and warmth smoothed away the rough edges and let him shine brighter than a polished ruby. She gazed at him across the table for a moment, searching his face and hoping for even a fragment of a memory from her past life.

  Nothing came.

  “Esme?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ve lived here a long while now, but this place doesn’t feel like a home. Would you help me?”

  “Really?”

  “Why not? You’re a decorator and I have a home in sore need of your talents.”

  “Sure, I’d love to. I can take a look around and get some ideas then sketch out a plan for you. Why don’t you tell me a little about what you’d like for your house. Do you like warmer colors or cooler ones? I mean, what color is your favorite?”

  “Cool colors. I’m surrounded by fire and heat all day. It’s nice to be around something different.”

  “Okay, I can work with that. You don’t want to have things remind you of the forge when you’re away from it. Do you mind if I walk around and take some pictures with my phone before I leave?”

  “Leave?” He blinked and twisted to look at the time on an old grandfather clock. “Forgive me, I hadn’t realized the late hour.”

  “Waiting for the food was worth it.”

  Alex remained quiet. He sipped his tea, s
till watching the clock, before finally turning back to her. “How will you get home?”

  “I can call Marie and see if she’s back in town yet. Unless you plan on going into town? I don’t want to put you out or anything.”

  When she stood, Alex rose from his seat to join her. “You’re welcome to stay overnight, or even the weekend, unless you have somewhere to be in the morning. There’s plenty of room, and I’ll grant you full access to the house.”

  Esme nibbled her lower lip. “I have a self-defense lesson tomorrow with Beau. We made plans, but I dunno if those are still on.”

  “Augustus will drive you, and Beau will meet you as planned, I promise.”

  “I don’t have any clothes or anything with me.”

  “It will be taken care of.”

  Before she could protest, before she could even question his promise, Alex placed both hands on her hips. His thumbs slid beneath her thin camisole and glided over the bare skin beneath. Her pulse leapt, like a spark zinged up her spine then back down, straight to the junction between her legs with an urgent need to be filled, reminding her of the months-long dry spell she’d endured since dumping Daniel.

  Daniel who?

  Esme swallowed, mouth dry despite the half bottle of fancy red Augustus had served. Her entire body flushed warm and hot.

  “Then I’ll… I’ll just let Marie know I won’t be home. I can get a chance to look around, and you can tell me what you’d like.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course. Tell your friend whatever you must.”

  God, he was still stroking her, petting her ribs and caressing her like he’d done it a thousand times before, growing increasingly confident with each passing second, until he abruptly stepped away. “I will be in my forge.”

  “Great. I’ll go call her then and wander around some.”

  It took a moment to gather her senses after Alex left. She called her friends, and, once she assured Jordan and Marie she was safe, she hung up and started her self-guided tour around the house. Everything was aesthetically pleasing, full of hard, masculine lines but still light and spacious. But it was empty—a big blank canvas waiting for her touch.

  After peeking into the upstairs bedrooms, she wandered into a solarium filled with tropical plant life.

  It was the conservatory from her dreams, the one she’d sketched with painstaking attention to detail for her final project, though there were some fixtures and furnishings missing from her design.

  How was it even possible? Had she remembered this room from her other life? Had Alex read her mind and hastily thrown it all together? No, it was too well-lived in, contrasting the other rooms she’d explored so far. Of all the rooms, it had the most personality. She lingered for a few minutes to admire the various orchids, miniature fig trees, dwarf pomegranate bushes, and hibiscus, then passed back into the house, though it was difficult to leave, and she could have lounged within its warm atmosphere for hours.

  Eventually, Augustus showed her to a guest bedroom with every comfort she needed, down to the soap and shampoo she preferred. The same brand of toothbrush and toothpaste awaited her in the bathroom on the marble counter.

  “Creepy.”

  But convenient. Maybe Augustus was a fairy or a genie, or some other implausible magical creature.

  “Augustus, before you go, where’s Alex?”

  “The forge, madam. Shall I send for him?”

  “No, I’ll go out myself. Thank you.”

  The moment she stepped outside, she regretted leaving her sweater. The cold night air whipped against her bare skin and tightened her nipples. As if that weren’t enough, a heavy snow fell from the sky. She hurried down the path and rushed inside the forge.

  “Damn, it feels nice in here. Sorry to barge in, I—” Words failed her. Alex stood at the foundry, shirtless, sweat gleaming against his golden skin. He poured red-hot liquid metal into a mold, his focus and gaze never wavering from his work.

  “It’s fine,” he grunted.

  “What are you making?”

  “Seraphs for Eros. He likes to leave them at the nursing homes around the holidays. Then I need to get on forging a new sword for Beau.” He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and guided her to an unoccupied area of the adjacent workbench. An enormous pitcher of iced tea awaited him there with its cubes still tinkling together.

  “Isn’t Eros…?”

  Alex nodded and took a long drink. “Aphrodite’s son, yes. By Ares.”

  He may as well have told her the world really was flat. Despite the days she’d spent researching Greek mythology and reading old stories about the gods, she’d never considered that part was true.

  “I’m a mom?”

  Alex nodded again. He set her on the edge of the bench—either tiring of looking down at her or sensing her knees had gone weak. “A good mother. You bore Hermaphroditus by Hermes, then Harmonia, Eros, Anteros, Adrestia, Phobos, and Deimos by Ares. They miss you, but they understand it may take time before you are ready to meet them.”

  The number of children overwhelmed her. “Yeah… yeah, that’s gonna take some—so why are you making Beau a new sword?”

  “He shattered the last one during a spar with Athena yesterday.”

  The tight feeling in her chest eased when Alex didn’t push the subject. “Beau got beat by a girl?” The idea of ultra-masculine, testosterone-fueled Beau losing a fight to anyone, even a goddess made her giggle. The more she thought about it, the funnier it became, until she leaned back against his workbench and held her stomach.

  Alexander’s bewildered look pronounced the creases in his face and deepened his crow’s feet. “Why is that so surprising? You’ve beaten him before.” He quieted, and a chastened look came over his face before he offered an apologetic smile. “Aphrodite has bested him before. Anyway, I didn’t say Athena beat him this time, I said he shattered his sword.”

  Esme chuckled again, wishing she had seen the fight. Her thoughts ran wild with vivid imagery inspired by her favorite Grecian historical flicks, and she pictured the god and goddess battling across Olympus.

  The idea of being Aphrodite—their Aphrodite, became less scary by the moment, and perhaps that alone should have been enough to frighten her out of Alex’s forge and out of their lives.

  Alex’s sigh dragged Esme out of her reverie. “You’re right,” he said. “I thought your laughter was the same as hers, but it isn’t. It’s different. Better. Warm and inviting. Like a hug given sound.”

  “That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

  Alex snorted. “I find that hard to believe. Do men no longer speak sweet words to their women?” He caught himself at the end, and the same boyish smile resurfaced. “To women they appreciate, rather?”

  “Pretty sure romance like that is dead in this modern age. My last boyfriend, he tended to compliment me on things like my ass or my tits, when he cared to offer a compliment at all.”

  “Ah…” Heavy lines furrowed his brow as he frowned. His gaze dropped, but he didn’t step away. “So, have you decided where to start your decorating? Is my bank account in danger?”

  “Don’t worry, I’m not planning to make you a beggar.” She studied him a moment. Of the three men—gods—Alex was the quietest. She laid her hand over his on the table and stroked her fingers back and forth across his warm skin. “I thought I’d start with your bedroom.”

  “What’s wrong with my bedroom?”

  “It’s so dark. Everything is in shades of gray, and since your first name isn’t Christian, we need to fix that. Besides, when I look at you, I don’t see dark and dismal. A dark person wouldn’t make such beautiful things.”

  Esme’s touch, as innocent as it was, sent sparks shooting through Alex’s body. “You can have whatever you need for your work. What will you change?” he asked after he found his voice.

  “Well, I’d pick a different color for your walls to start. Change out your drapes too. Your bed frame is nice.” She swept her
thumb across his fingers. “Strong, sturdy, and masculine. I’d leave that alone. And the comforter, even though it’s gray, is an attractive slate shade that I actually like. But the charcoal sheets should go.”

  “Masculine and sturdy? Thank you, I suppose.” At least she appreciated the one item he’d made there, on a whim more than anything else.

  Following an impulse, he turned his hand over and curled his fingers loosely around hers. Her hand was so much smaller, he expected it to disappear within his bearlike grip, or for her to withdraw altogether. She didn’t. One success encouraged him to aim for another, so he brushed his thumb over her knuckles and stepped in closer, until he was between her legs. Esme’s breath caught in her throat.

  “I, um… hope you don’t mind that I helped myself to your room. It seems like the best place to start. A place for you to relax in after a long day. Unwind.”

  His pulse sped, beating with enough intensity he was positive she could hear the powerful thumps inside his chest. “I did tell you to make yourself at home and to explore to your heart’s content,” he reminded her. “That included my bedroom.” The bedroom he didn’t do much unwinding in because he often slept in the forge.

  He dipped his head down and breathed her in, nose skimming over her throat. She smelled like sin personified, rich chocolate and warm vanilla against her skin, daring him to have a taste. She exhaled a soft, quiet breath and closed her eyes, tilting her head to the side, freeing him to explore her throat. His whiskered jaw scraped against her skin, and she sighed again, this time with his name on her lips.

  The sound, and the longing behind it, startled him. Before he could pull away, she lifted her hands to his shoulders, sliding them to his nape, and pulled him back in. She leaned in and slanted her mouth over his.

  Her kiss startled him as much as the raw surge of lust it provoked. He stepped forward into her, thrusting his hips between the soft junction of her thighs. Dragging her against him by the waist of her leggings, practically shredded them in the process.